Bending the Heart Strings
by StardustRose22
Summary: A one-shot about Zuko and Iroh's father-son relationship, taking place while Iroh cares for Zuko during his illness.


Author's Note: I seriously can't be the only one obsessed with the relationship between Iroh and Zuko, can I? I think it's the best representation of love in the show, so I decided to write a one-shot about it. I thought the idea of using a sickness as a change of heart was a cool idea by the writers, (check out the episode "The Earth King," season two) so I decided to play around with it, and poof! this fanfiction was born. Contains an OC for technical purposes, (you'll find out) enjoy!

*disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: the Last Airbender…obviously. Then it wouldn't be a fanfiction*

Iroh cradled Zuko's head in his lap. He refused to let the young man go, the last ignition of hope in the old general's life.

Zuko's breathing came in ragged, panting gasps. His body burned with a fire nobody could bend, searing his consciousness and glittering in his eyes.

Iroh had spent the past seven hours at his nephew's side, wiping away the sweat on his forehead. He felt helpless and trapped. He had done everything that he could for Zuko, but the fever was as strong as ever.

Even though Zuko's eyes blearily opened for the short moments in between feverish dreams, and Iroh whispered to him that everything was going to be okay, he was terrified inside. But he would never let Zuko see him shaking, holding in the sobs for him.

When the blankets pulled back ever so slightly, exposing Zuko's bare chest, he took the opportunity to make or break his fear- he brought his ear down and listened.

It was at that moment, when he could feel his nephew's heart struggling to beat, and hear his shivering breathing, that he knew this was something Zuko could not simply sweat out. He needed to get his nephew to a doctor, or his life would be claimed within a few hours.

And Iroh was not about to lose Zuko.

He was conflicted, however. He knew that he should move, get to the nearest doctor, bring them back to this spot, and find Zuko still here. But something inside him made him believe that if he let go of his nephew's hand for even a second, he would lose him to the fire within, returning only to ash.

Maybe Zuko really did need his Uncle Iroh more than he would ever admit.

And his Uncle Iroh was not about to let him down.

Knowing that his old body would only protest, but not break, he wrapped the blanket tighter around Zuko and lifted him up, resting the young man's head against his shoulder.

Feeling Zuko's chest shakily rise and fall, he hurried to the door, nudged it open with his hip, and ran with his dying nephew into the night.

The night nor the city had ever been scary to Iroh. The darkness seemed to cloak him when he needed it, and his fire could light the way when he needed it. And Ba Sing Se seemed to forgive him, knowing exactly what it took from him.

Or maybe it wasn't satisfied, and wanted to take more from him.

When Iroh ran through the hauntingly dead market, his panting should have been the only sound, besides Zuko's joining his. But there was a crack, a shift, a static in the air that should not have been there.

A silver glint, reflecting the moon's borrowed light, was the only thing that saved him and his nephew.

Iroh stepped out of the way so the knife only nicked his ear, slamming itself into the wall of a building. He turned to the roof, where a young man, he assumed, jumped off of.

In all black, wearing a mask, just like the one his nephew had just given up. This boy was hoping for an alias, to make a name for himself, even if it wasn't the right one.

Iroh stepped back, trying to catch his breath, when a low moan broke through the air.

"Please," Iroh began, his voice cracking from the choked tears and whispers, "please."

The mugger, assailant, scared boy, which ever, did not move a muscle, only spoke-"What do ya got hidden in that robe?"

"Nothing." Iroh responded, willing to show him as proof, but could not.

The boy sniffed, "What about him?" he gestured to Zuko, "What's wrong with him anyway?"

"He has nothing," Iroh took the chance, "and please, he's very ill."

The mugger, Iroh determined, only snorted. "Yeah, right." He made an advance toward the old general. Iroh had noticed two more people, dressed the same, creeping up from the alleyways.

They really didn't believe him?

"Stay back…" Iroh warned. He didn't want to hurt them, really. He didn't want to hurt anyone. But he could almost hear his nephew's voice- "Come one, Uncle, we've got no time to waste."

The night whimpered to be alight.

The mugger took a swing at Iroh with a long hunting knife. _So you hunt material goods, _Iroh thought, _and people are your kill._

Maybe they needed to be taught the hard way…

Iroh dodged the knife, and another one immediately came swinging.

The dark was about to die.

Iroh took a deep, meaningful breath, and the next thing anyone knew, the world was burning, and the old man with the sick boy was gone.

Iroh reached the doctor's house after what seemed like an eternity. Zuko was breathing heavily, and shivering violently. Iroh adjusted Zuko in his arms, freeing a hand to knock on the door.

Within less than a minute, the door opened.

It must have been quite a sight, seeing the two of them appear at your door in the middle of the night. And old man, with wild, scraggy hair, but a kind face, carrying a teenage boy in his arms.

"Um…" Iroh began, looking at the woman in front of him. She was younger than him, but not by much. She had graying brown hair, and eyes to match. But they were not dull, they shone with a fierce passion for what she did- helping people.

This woman seemed to understand right away that her services were needed. "Please, come inside." She held the door open, and Iroh wasted no time getting inside.

She gestured for him to follow her down a short hallway, where the door she held open at the end led to a room with a few beds, obviously a sick room.

There were no occupants, only the white sheets of ready beds.

Iroh lay Zuko down in one quickly, as he was starting to feel the effects of carrying his nephew through the streets of Ba Sing Se.

The woman appeared on the opposite side of the bed, as she noticed Iroh fell to his knees next to Zuko, almost as if he had been through this before, and remembered the feeling all too well.

Zuko was shaking slightly, shivering with an unfelt cold, because his body was hotter than it had been yet. The woman sat on the edge of the bed, feeling Zuko's forehead with her fingertips. His pale skin made the scar stand out angrily, and her fingers hovered over it.

"You're Fire Nation."

Iroh jumped. His eyes flew to the woman's face, but her expression remained unchanged. "What is his name, and yours, and how old is he?"

Iroh knew there was no point in lying. She knew they were Fire Nation, and that was enough to be killed for. So what did it matter if she recognized their names?

"His name is Zuko- I'm his uncle, Iroh. He's a little under seventeen, his birthday is in a couple months."

If the woman realized who they were, she didn't show it. "Well, Iroh, your nephew is very sick. But he's not dead, so that means he can still recover." She told him to wait while she left to bring back the medicine she thinks will help bring down the fever.

So Iroh sat in a dark room with his nephew, the same ghost of death lingering over their heads.

Iroh could not lose another person he cared about- his wife, his son, his father, even his brother he had lost…he wouldn't lose Zuko.

He wouldn't, he wouldn't, he wouldn't.

He remembered sitting with Lu Ten, before he died, holding his hand. His history wouldn't dare to repeat itself. Not this time.

The woman returned with medicine, a mixture of herbs and paper soaked in a fluid. Surprisingly, the woman did not have Zuko drink it or even rub it into his chest. She simply put it on the table next to his head and lit a small flicker of a flame in it, and let the smoke curl its way around the room.

"It's a type of incense." She began to explain, "The body uses the healing properties of the smoke if it is breathed in."

They sat in silence, listening to Zuko's breathing. Eventually, the labored moans relaxed to a light pant, then to a deep, heavy breathing.

Iroh stroked Zuko's ebony hair. His fever hadn't completely broken, but it had at least gone down a few degrees.

The woman slowly got up. "I think he'll be okay until morning. You're welcome to use a bed if you'd like."

She knew, however, that when she came back the next morning, the old man would still be there, eyes and heart wide open.

"I…" Iroh started the sentence. The woman turned and nodded, to show that she was listening. "I never got your name."

The old woman smiled. "Ivy." She turned and walked out of the room, shutting the door softly, as not to wake Zuko.

Iroh turned his tired eyes to his nephew. Looking pale and weak, but still had a pulse at the wrist, a sound from his heart. A single tear fought its way out of his eye.

"Thank you, Ivy."

It was early in the morning when the sun streamed through the windows of the sick room.

Ivy saw, just as she expected, Iroh still at Zuko's side, wide awake.

He looked worried. He saw her, and the desperate, almost pleading look in his eyes would make you think he was watching everything he had being killed at his fault.

Ivy hurried over to the bed. Zuko was paler than he was, and sweat dripped from his forehead, soaking his hair. His breathing was so light you could barely hear the little gasps if not getting enough oxygen.

His fever had begun raging again. Switching to doctor mode, Ivy asks Iroh, "How long has he been like this?"

Iroh looks at her and whispers, "Since very early this morning. Dusk."

"You didn't think to tell me?"

Iroh flinched at this. "I didn't want to disturb you, after everything you've done for us."

Ivy did not respond to this. She looked at Zuko, and then back to Iroh. The old man leaned in, turning his eyes on her with everything he had in his tired and aching soul.

He shoulders slumped with the weight of two hearts falling to ruin.

"There's nothing I can do for him at this point."

_There's nothing I can do for the old man at this point. _

Iroh shut his eyes, and the tears that had swam at the rims of his eyes drowned themselves all the way to underneath his chin.

Ivy squeezed his shoulder and he looked up at her, barely able to breathe. Zuko stirred in his sleep, giving Iroh what seemed like false hope.

Ivy whispered, "But he can still save himself."

And with that, she turned away and shut the door, knowing that both of them were falling.

_Zuko stood alone. _

_Alone in a place that could only be a wasteland-_

_Tattered bodies, ripped hearts._

_Bloody swords, stained hands. _

_Broken arrows, shaken souls. _

_Scraping claws, dying eyes. _

_A last breath, a war that never ends. _

_Zuko's eyes widened as he saw the truth. _

_Every dead and defeated body was his. _

_He stumbled backwards, then looked to the gray sky when he heard it. _

_A battle. _

_The one going on inside him. _

_Two spirits, one black, the other white. _

_Vatoo and Rava. _

_Evil and good. _

_Dark and light. _

_The world spun in gray. _

_Even fire looked different now. _

There were few times that Iroh could have said he was scared, so when he honestly does, it means that the balance of his own heart was tipping.

And right now, he was very, very scared.

Holding Zuko, who was shaking and drenched in sweat, knowing that everything that could possibly be done, given their situation, was already in effect.

It was not enough.

Zuko's life depended on if he could fight his way out of the gray haze, choose either dark or light. Both were always fighting for power within him.

Iroh, deep down, hoped that Zuko would choose light, would survive, would come to accept everything that has happened and find his eye of the storm.

But he knew that Zuko could never- rather, he should never. Every time Iroh sat in the dark with Zuko asleep, which he had started to do more and more now that they were off the ship, he started thinking.

He started thinking about what a horrible monster his brother was. How his brother had become such a monster, he could not understand.

Why would a father do this to his only son?

When Iroh saw that scar, even in the dimmest light, anger flared up deep within him, bubbling underneath the serene surface, like a toxin of the heart.

There was no way Zuko should have to accept what his father did to him.

"Come on, Zuko," Iroh whispered to his nephew, _"don't give up without a fight."_

Zuko heard the words, shining gold in gray.

As soon as they came, they faded away.

Staring down was the face of his mother.

He tried to touch her.

Then his dream faded into that of another.

_An old man had watched the battle fade away, both sides cutting slits in each other's throats. _

_He had heard the last breath leave his son's body, felt the pulse cease at the wrist. He felt the warmth leave his hands, and he knew that the heart had stilled. _

_The tears came like a river, sobs racking his shoulder like the ocean crashing against the shoreline. _

_He held his son close, rocking him back and forth, like it was just the two of them left in the whole world. "No, no, no, no…" the old man whispered, knowing that it was so. _

_In the Fire Nation, the bodies of the fallen are not buried. They are burned- it is believed that from their ashes, another will rise. _

_He picked up his son, ignoring the presence of any other. He carried the young man outside, the tears still dancing in his eyes, still playing around his cheeks. _

_He wrapped the boy tightly in blankets. Not the silk robes a prince like him deserved, but the old man had a feeling he would understand. _

_He glanced at the bundle, then gently pulled it away from the boy's face. He stared at it, knowing he would never know another soul like this one again. _

_After it had tattooed itself in his mind, the old man lit it on fire. _

_With streams of smoke making hearts in the air, the ashes flying like rose petals in the wind, the old man knew that he had to let go._

_Let go of what he always hoped would be. _

Iroh woke with a start.

The room was dark, just a single candle flickering next to Zuko's bed. He still held Zuko tightly in his arms.

He realized there were still wet tears on his face.

He wiped them away, and checked Zuko's forehead with the palm of his hand. To his shock, it was cold.

Cold, just like death.

Fear gripped his heart and made it skip a beat.

He couldn't lose Zuko.

He would fall apart without him.

He refused to see the sun without him.

He knew he would lose control.

Zuko couldn't be dead.

Iroh shook and his face tightened. He shoulders slumped, knowing that the battle was lost, light hadn't prevailed. Zuko had every right to be conflicted, he was a walking internal war…

Iroh's thoughts were interrupted by a small sigh.

He slowly, carefully, turned his eyes o Zuko. He dared not believe it, even though his heart sang with hope.

Slowly, slowly, Zuko's eyes opened. Amber and clear, alive and full of light.

Iroh's eyes stared down is disbelief. Zuko…

Those eyes quickly blurred with tears. "Zuko…"

The boy in his arms managed a weak smile. "I heard you, Uncle."

"I heard your thoughts. I saw your eyes, so lost. I chose light because I didn't want to hurt you."

Iroh listened to Zuko's whispers. The young prince shut his eyes again. He looked peaceful, like the war inside was finally all gone.

Because he didn't want to see his real father in pain.

He didn't want to see him lose his son.


End file.
